


The Corner of the World where you Smile

by Chyme



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Aiballshipping Week, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Canon, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29826963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chyme/pseuds/Chyme
Summary: Average moments in two average lives: featuring an average boy and his average - err, wait hismarvelousAI partner...In short, it's Aiball week 2021.
Relationships: Ai | Ignis/Fujiki Yuusaku, Aqua/Earth (Yu-Gi-Oh), Homura Takeru & Kamishirakawa Kiku
Comments: 15
Kudos: 24





	1. March 5th: Home

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have the energy this year to be creative. So I'm throwing whatever I've come up with for each prompt into the same work as seperate chapters.

The boat is quiet as it docks by the side of a pier. Now there is nothing but the sound, the splash of water, as the quiet rumble of a motor draws away, while overhead the moon paints everything silver; the rocks, the starfish, the quick slip and flash of tiny fish that dart through water and become dark enough to blot out the grit and gravel of the river bed below.

Ryoken has no time to look, not the way he would have done as a child. Instead he walks over a pier that creaks beneath his feet, the whorls in the board forming a hundred dark eyes, all staring up at him accusingly. It is stupid of him to do this. But still.

Yusaku sent him a message, and so Ryoken is here. And out he walks, through a familiar street, into a garden his father never had time to play with him in all the way up to a house he once decided to never step foot in again.

And yet here he is, years later. Scraping out chunks of dust with his feet. Leaving behind a second trail of footsteps after the first, Ryoken walks down a corridor he dimly remembers, with no pictures on the wall.

There is a laugh. A little nasally, smug and familiar, and Ryoken narrows his eyes as it drifts down the stairs. He ends up taking them two at a time, following the joyful titter of the Dark Ignis, before it draws to a close, morphing into a sickly croon of, ‘no, no, Yusaku-chan, like this-’

And then he is there, _out_ , inside the curve of the longue where his father once lay. But this time Yusaku stands by the window, a slight, _slight_ , quirk of the mouth unveiled to the light that pours through the moon-soaked windows, all his attention eaten up by the phone in his hand. Ryoken has time to make out the flutter of curls, a familiar SOLtiS practising a few wonky dance steps across the screen before Yusaku turns, the curl of his mouth smoothing out, hard as a pebble, as he ends the video with an abrupt press of his thumb.

This, more than anything else, makes something in Ryoken hesitate. Yusaku...Yusaku doesn’t do this. Doesn’t get distracted, doesn’t allow anything to that isn’t necessary to cross into his vision, not when he’s working towards a goal of some sort. In fact this seems more like something Ai would do.

And if Ai were here – but, no, he isn’t. Couldn’t be. And it is a good thing Yusaku has never had a similar flair for the dramatics the way Ai did, or else Ryoken could have expected to see a body laid out in bed his father took his last breath in, a body that no longer breathed, that had never breathed-

But no. Here is Yusaku. Unrepentant and with a phone in his hand.

‘You were careless, Fujiki,’ says Ryoken softly. ‘That virus you made…it didn’t self delete the way it was supposed to. Though it was good enough to lead the police straight to Spectre.’

A lie. Yusaku is a lot of things; deliberately careless has never been one of them.

‘That’s my line,’ Yusaku replies. ‘You should have checked our-’ he catches himself, lets out a breath. It emerges as a hiss, a venomous one. ‘ _My_ home,’ he corrects. ‘Ai had plenty of cameras set up, it turns out. Some even I wasn’t aware of. Perhaps you would have found them all had you had time. If you had made time.’ His gaze narrows. ‘But you didn’t waste a moment.’

No, Ryoken didn’t. It hurts him a little to remember. Their _home,_ so much warmer than this one had ever been, shelves filled with Blu-Rays for things Ryoken very much doubted Yusaku had the time or taste to watch. The spines shone out like a rainbow to his eye, in parody of a well-stocked library shelf, the sofa below filled with pastel purple hues. It had burned something in his chest to see the bright coffee table on one side, littered with dozens of photos in neat golden frames, a shard of joy captured in each face. Even in Yusaku’s unsmiling ones, there was something there, on the way his eyes were soft when they looked at the other at his side, usually holding the selfie-stick and looking far too absorbed in winking or striking a pose, even outside, in a background filled with dreary tones the Vrains network didn’t always like to accommodate.

Some of those photos had been smashed by the time Ryoken had left though, the frames thoroughly splintered into cheap sticks of metal after Pandor and Ai had spun into the table and cast it down. The struggle had been brutal, a whirlwind of black and green, much like watching a lion drag down prey, though the sparks of electricity that danced over their bodies told of a more complex fight going on beneath the surface. But in the end Pandor had become more advanced over the years, her base code more stable than the more flighty Ignis one, and the viruses she had created were as swift as a sword as they crashed through the panicked signals in Ai’s head.

They had left him there, left him for Yusaku to find, snapshots of their life together smashed beneath his limbs in parody of a bed. It had been cruel, yes, but Ryoken couldn’t have ever brought himself to touch Ai, not even to close his eyes, and spare Yusaku the sight of them staring dully out into the wall.

‘It had to be done,’ Ryoken says grimly. He doesn’t much like himself for doing it, and after everything, after the years of quiet when Ai had failed to turn into the next Lightning, there is still a set of nerves jangling inside him, little jumps of thought that tell him, _‘he was a person like Pandor, you know he was, and what if he had never turned after Yusaku left this world, what if, what if, **what if.** ’_ But he crushes those thoughts down as always. Humanity and its continued survival deserves better than his doubts.

‘Ai may have been content to behave while you were here to keep him in check,’ Ryoken says, knowing, just from the careful blankness on Yusaku’s face, that his words may as well be falling on stone. ‘But what about after your life runs its natural course? What then?’

‘Maybe nothing,’ Yusaku says dully. ‘Or maybe everything. Maybe a life with me would have been enough; you never gave him the chance to find out.’

 _I’m not sorry,_ Ryoken thinks. But there’s no need to say it. Yusaku already knows.

There’s a stir of wind in the garden below, a rustle in a bush outside. A tread of feet on the path outside as a human hand shoves the door aside ruthlessly. And then Ryoken hears them, marching into the house, the rough sounds of their _shoes_ on the stairs. Shoes they haven’t even bothered to slip off.

He sends Yusaku a wry look. ‘Who did you call? The police? You want me to go against Homura Takeru’s wishes now?’

And yet something freezes in him when Yusaku doesn’t meet his gaze; for it’s something that Yusaku had never failed to do before.

‘No,’ his old rival says. ‘I just remembered that there were some other people out there who you hurt and decided to get in contact with them. Not every victim made a full recovery after being swallowed by the Tower of Hanoi or falling victim to the ANOTHER virus; initially yes, they did. But some developed ongoing brain trauma or psychological issues later on; a few are even dead now, because if it.’ He eyes Ryoken. ‘And I know what’s it’s like to want answers.’

And of course, revenge too.

* * *

Minutes later, Yusaku sits on the side of the road. There is starlight out in the sky; it pours down onto the ocean, creating shining spaces, pushing necklaces of lights out onto the ripple of the waves.

Ai would have loved it.

 _‘Pretty,’_ he would have sighed. Or squealed. Or maybe he would have just hugged Yusaku’s arm, nuzzled his way down onto his shoulder, while staring out onto the sea, a flicker in his irises as he watched the waves and thought...well. Something stupid.

And then he would have leant forwards, enough for his head to drop like a stone into Yusaku’s lap _. ‘Oh,’_ he would have said. _‘Oh dear. I miscalculated and now gravity has me in its clutches! Yusaku, save me! I’ve forgotten how to escape it!’_ and then he would have promptly, and quite unrepentantly, seized Yusaku’s hand and slid it over his cheek.

Yusaku smiles before he realises his hand, now lost in the memory of another time, is already reaching out, down, into the shadow of his lap to stroke...someone who isn’t there.

His hand clenches. Would Ai still love him the same, stars twinkling in his eyes, if he saw what Yusaku has done? If he’d known Yusaku, the Yusaku of today, is capable of watching as a bruise blossoms along Ryoken’s cheek? What would he think if he could see Yusaku leave as Ryoken falls to the carpet, crushed by shouts, by tears, by demands from people who are angry, as angry as Yusaku had once been as Playmaker. And now is once again.

But Ryoken’s still breathing, Yusaku tells himself. And he has his words, his promises, his brain – Yusaku has given him a chance to appease those people, to work out a compromise, maybe even end up in a jail cell for a while. It’s more than what the other man in turn has offered to Ai.

But it doesn’t matter. Nothing has mattered, not since Yusaku had come home a week ago and found that he would never again receive a ‘welcome home’ or a hug or, or, or...

And all that had been was a body, something mechanical to hold and cradle in his arms, a body he couldn’t even have a proper funeral for. And Yusaku had held that body for hours, while his brain was filled with white noise, empty space, and a cold, growing horror.

He had once thought he could forgive Ryoken anything. And maybe tomorrow, or weeks from now, a year, something in him will un-harden, uncurl, and he’d finally find himself horrified at what he’d done in the heat of the moment.

But not now. Not today. Today Ai is dead. Again. Maybe another miracle can happen and Yusaku will find a way to bring him back home once more...but Pandor has been thorough this time, crushing out each sizzling spark of Ai’s program and so the possibility of true revival is lower than ever...which just makes his anger burn even harder.

But either way he’s sent his message to Ryoken and his Knights: and next time, if there _was_ a next time, they’d remember not to crush any part of his home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sad one this time.


	2. March 6th: Memories

Purple blossomed in the network. It bloomed into small, star-like shapes, into tiny twinkles and budding gems...and then they were suddenly flowers, with long dripping petals and stems that fell from a tree that was bent impossibly between both the hybrid shape of a willow and a wisteria.

Except here in the network, Ai can make _anything_. Do _anything_. And so the petals wavered, sparking bright as flames, and Ai stepped closer. His fingers brushed a petal, then two, maybe three. And with each touch he fed more data into his design, copying endless video files and pushing them in deeper, into every part of the tree.

Some, the ones that angered him, that embarrassed him, he crushed into bite-sized partitions that would take more than simple human effort to recompile and fix, at least enough for them to watch. Others, the ones where Yusaku smiled with no ulterior motive, where the shadows fell on his face in a way that didn’t make his expression look brittle or fake, Ai allowed to play across the open face of each flower in tiny projected holo-screens.

Eventually Ai stepped away. This was stupid. But it would have been stupider still to do this while Yusaku was still...

Ai scowled. Pulled himself back into the network. And unfurled himself back into the darkened spaces where no humans could tread.

* * *

In the real world plants took time to grow. i.e. They were _slow._

Earth had seemed to enjoy that though, and back in the early days of the Cyberse World when the Ignis had been unsure as to how to start building it, the orange Ignis had watched endless films humans had set up in their gardens, perched over soil that would grandly, over a matter of months, unleash small green sprouts. It had helped that the mind of an Ignis, by virtual of its design, could experience years of life within their own simulations and so Earth had used the mighty power of his own to watch things grow. Just that, and nothing more.

Ai meanwhile, had been bored solid within the first few minutes.

‘Boo! Boo!’ he had called down to Earth, eyes narrowed, and both black thumbs pointing firmly down as he drifted over to the other Ignis’ cross-legged form. ‘How can you be so easily entertained! Are you a dog?’

‘Look who’s talking,’ Windy had muttered. And Lightning had watched, arms crossed in a way Ai had thought was calm and un-judgemental at the time. _Oh, if only he had known!_

‘You think it’s lame too!’ Ai had accused, pointing a finger at Windy, who had simply scowled and waved him off.

Aqua had sighed.

‘Leave Earth alone,’ she had said quietly, spreading her hands out and frowning in concentration.

And then, as though fairy dust had settled itself upon the ground, a gleaming, silver ring of water raced through the grass, circling round to form a protective moat around Earth. Data struggled within its ripples and eventually, after sneaking a few peaks at Earth’s simulations, Aqua brought forth bright green lilypads, ones that curved into a soup-bowl-like shape with pretty pink lotus flowers curling within their depths. There were almost like boats and Ai wasted no time launching himself into one of them with a whoop of excitement.

‘So easily distracted,’ Flame murmured, drifting over from where he had been experimenting with a heap of molten rock. ‘Why don’t you go and build something for a change, instead of taking advantage of everyone else’s work?’

But Ai didn’t answer him, choosing to dip a hand into the water with a lazy swirl of motion and watch Earth jerk into awareness all with a sly look on his face.

Because it seemed that Aqua’s work, the mere touch of it across the localised network they were in, was enough to drag the other Ignis out of his simulations. And Ai watched gleefully as Earth’s rectangular eyes widened into glowing blue squares, awed ones as the light fell across the water before him, casting gold ridges across the ripples of movement. And that blue gaze softened further as it travelled over the small, detailed sprout of each, feather-like petal that curled and flopped over each lilypad. And then a hue of pink, all too similar to those newly-created flowers, had wavered across his face.

It had been hilarious. And so Ai did for every sensitive, well-meaning friend would have done and instantly crowed, pointing his finger at Earth with a flourish of triumph.

‘Hah! Earth’s imitating a human teenager! He’s going through digital puberty!’

‘Which must make you a child in comparison,’ Flame muttered as Aqua let out a soft sigh, closed her eyes briefly in disappointment...and promptly deleted the lilypad Ai was sitting on.

‘AHHH!’ Ai screamed, black limbs flailing through the water like snakes, causing a forth of white foam to appear. ‘Help! Murder! Murder! Avenge me, Flame!’

 **‘No,’** Flame, the _traitor_ , had stated evenly, while Aqua floated over to Earth.

‘Thank you,’ she had told Earth, oh so sweetly, as though Ai wasn’t busy drowning. ‘Your simulations were very informative and were a heavy factor in my own designs for the plant-life I have created.’ And then with a simple rise of her arm, some pond weed had scraped its way across Ai’s leg and flung him back onto dry land as though he was a piece of litter staining the landscape.

That memory, caught forever in video-file format, now had a copy stuck in the tree. And Ai had another one of Yusaku watching it on his computer and smiling. Not outright laughing; no, Yusaku would _never._ But smiling. Both happy and sad, a mindful hand on Ai’s hair. He hadn’t said ‘sorry’ or ‘I know you miss them’ because he knew such words never helped.

‘That was when it started,’ Ai had told Yusaku, head snugly buried into the crook of Yusaku’s patient arm. ‘Their epic love story! When Earth first started falling for her!’

And though the sight of them, the sound of their voices, still hurt – he brushed the faint bud of familiar pain aside, long enough to tilt his head back and expose the arch of his long neck and the glistening gem of the LED diamond that nestled along his throat. He knew what he looked like, slovenly but mischievous, his eyes dancing as he watched Yusaku’s expression intently above, enjoying the way wariness crept into those green eyes that stared back at him firmly.

‘What about you, Yusaku- _chan_?’ Ai sang out the name, pulled a finger through a loose curl of hair that draped over Yusaku’s lap. ‘When did you start falling for me?’

‘Probably one of the rare times when you were being quiet and not annoying,’ Yusaku shot back, without missing a beat. ‘So back when you pretended that you couldn’t overwrite the mute function on the Duel Disk and played along like an idiot.’

Ai scowled. ‘You were such such a lot of work back then! And come to think of it, you still are now! You’re so unromantic...’

‘I take you on dates,’ Yusaku pointed out calmly, in a way that wasn’t quite an admonishment...but the tone of his voice was still firm enough for Ai to raise his guard none the less. ‘You’re the one who becomes a ‘lot of work’ when I don’t.’

‘The very fact you can say something like that and mean it is the reason I say you’re unromantic,’ Ai said flatly, deftly twisting his head off Yusaku’s arm and sitting up – and feeling a faint trace of satisfaction at the slight two-second crease in Yusaku’s brow that meant he was disappointed Ai had moved away. ‘Lucky for you, I’m romantic enough for both of us!’

He leant forwards, arms snaking round Yusaku’s neck, leaning into him so their lips were inches above. Ai had no hormones, no libido, but he could still feel _something_ in the air, a jump of excitement at the way Yusaku’s expression darkened and human fingertips found themselves lodged into the small of his back, tiny twigs of warmth against the hardware of this convenient body.

‘And I know when I started falling for you,’ Ai murmured. ‘I can pinpoint all the moments you made my heart race.’

Yusaku smirked, probably at the fact that Ai had no heart lodged in his chest, ready to run a marathon the way Yusaku’s own could do. But he said nothing as Ai opened his mouth again.

‘I fell for you when you solved my brilliant puzzle that none of those other humans could do and found the deck I made _just for you_ – cleverness is a real turn-on for an AI, you know! Especially because we’re aware of human limitations!’ Ai pressed a kiss to Yusaku’s soft cheek.

'And I fell for you when you went surfing straight into Zaizen’s trap to help lost little sleeping princess Aoi – it was stupid and reckless, but it was brave too. And I’ve always enjoyed watching kindness rather than cruelty in humans. And then you kept doing it _again_ and _again’_ – Ai pressed two sharp kisses in succession against the hard arch of Yusaku’s jawbone – ‘for people you didn’t know, for people that annoyed you, for almost anyone that needed you. It annoyed me so much! But I though it was very cool too!’

Ai smiled warmly, hands coming up to pocket Yusaku’s face between them, fingers slipping into his hair, carefully crushing the short blue tuffs and feeling the soft itch of them against his sensors.

‘I fell for you when you let me go – when you unlocked the Duel Disk even though you had probably already worked out I could have left anytime I wanted. But you did it anyway because it was the right thing to do and you wanted to give me the choice to leave.’ He grinned, closed his eyes, and let his face slip down, knocking his forehead gently against Yusaku’s.

‘I fell for you even harder when you screamed at Go Onizuka to let Earth go.’ He let the words escape his mouth in a rushed whisper. ‘And when you didn’t try to talk me out of invading Bohman’s systems to try and save the others, even though I think you wanted to. And when you never stopped wanting to save me, even when I started hurting people and-’

Yusaku’s mouth methodically swallowed his own in a kiss, in a rush of warmth, in an explosion of soaring heat that bruised Ai’s sensors. Ai stiffened, maybe squeaked – no matter how many times it happened, it was still a novelty to feel the way his code responded and tried to quickly assemble some sort of response to this sensation that still at times felt alien to him, simply because of the way he had been constructed. He _felt_ , oh yes, _how he felt,_ but his code still reacted as though he was being attacked by a pesky virus.

Ai shoved it down so that the rest of their time together was filled with all sorts of pleasant things, of Yusaku’s hands, his eyes, half-lidded and soft and gorgeous. Of his mouth being used to address things like _'I love you'_ and _'I fell for you too, here, now, in this moment'_ but never with actual spoken _words_. Just touch and heat and wetness.

Ai was fine with that. Mostly.

‘You talk too much,’ Yusaku murmured against his skin, the sensors flaring to life as each vowel, each breath, fluttered along their surface.

Ai pouted.

‘My memory doesn’t work the way yours does,’ Yusaku continued. ‘It’s not as accurate. But I know that falling for anyone is a process. The little moments matter – but what matters more is that the results of that process last.’

Ai curled his hands round Yusaku’s let his fingers feed into all the gaps Yusaku’s left behind, his grip tightening.

 _And what_ , he thought, suddenly afraid, _happens when part of the formula for that result is gone?_

* * *

Ai was now forced to find the answer, years later. Yusaku had given him one again, and again, throughout those same years: move on. Make new bonds. Don’t forget or let go, but don’t ever stop moving forwards either. They were wise words for a human life, measured by a single, stray animal lifespan, a thin thread of time against the rest of the universe.

But Ai’s life was a thick pile of rope in comparison, stretching with no visible end unless he made certain to create one. True, he had softened slightly, allowed himself to be talked into living, even when he knew better, but the thought that he had to continue to find new ways for coping, or surviving emotional pain was still jarring. Ruthless. And he envied humans, that they could do it at all.

Well. Not all of them. Some were a suicidal as he had been once upon a time. And Ai was certainly a lot more sympathetic towards them than he would have been at an earlier point in his life.

The trouble was, he wasn’t patient. Not enough to watch things grow from soil and bloom into the real world. So he gardened in the net.

Sometimes he even felt Pandor watching. And one time, she came with a feeble old man attached to her arm. His mind was still a blaze of fire in the network, even if there were more unspoken faltering lines of code in its input – the result of a decaying, aging body at the other end of the line, so to speak.

‘You’ve grown careless,’ Revolver told him, his avatar tamer than it once was, the helmet long since lost.

Ai shrugged. ‘Yusaku’s dead – I would never have been stupid enough to build anything that showed his real face on the net. Not when it could be used to hurt him.’ 

‘You’re careless with yourself,’ Revolver continued. ‘You should be running at my approach, or else hidden yourself better. You would have done that when Yusaku was alive.’

Ai scowled. ‘What does it matter to you? Yusaku’s not here to avenge me if you do wind up deleting me – or to bring me back. This sudden growth of your heart is a little sickening for my tastes, Revolver- _kun_.’

‘Yes,’ said Revolver quietly. ‘He always found a way to bring you back. You should honour that will of his, Dark Ignis. Not throw it away.’

Ai’s face bunched into a snarl. He wanted to turn, to become a monster of many arms, a wavering ink splotch on the net that could tear through data with his teeth. But he held himself back. It was easier to talk to humans when he looked like them, when his expressions could influence their subconsciousness, make them show him an ounce more respect, even if only _slightly._

But only a cocky smirk crossed Revolver’s face in response as though the bastard knew what was going through his head. ‘Oh?’ he said softly. ‘So there’s still a bit of fight left in you yet. Good. Show me, and any other humans that might discover you one day - that Fujiki Yusaku wasn’t wrong to keep saving you.’

* * *

Ai hated humans sometimes. He really did. But the love he felt for several of them, even though they were now gone, was enough to stay his hand – and who knew? In time, he might one day invade another human life the way he had shoved himself into Yusaku’s and form a new bond. Find an additional reason to stifle his present pain and allow a new hurt to come blistering into his life.

He watched Yusaku’s smile dance its way across a new flower that bloomed on the tree.

 _‘Go,’_ it seemed to say. _‘Live.’_

Even though in reality, that smile was gone, lost to dust and ash, and eventually gobbled down by a crematorium, the last stray particles of it locked under the grandest grave Ai could have built, with purple incenses sticks burnt and wisteria flowers laid lovingly over its base every Sunday like clockwork.

Yusaku would have hated it. And also, in his own introverted way, been touched by it as well.

Just as Ai was touched that Yusaku had never stopped trying to give him life.

Ai cast his eye over the tree one more time. It would stay here, never decaying, never _dying_ , providing Pandor left it alone. And she probably would. She wasn’t as spiteful as he was.

Ai took a step back. And unfurled back into the network. But this time, instead of racing into the dark pathways no human neural interface could brave, he turned and swerved into the lighter trails, the ones a human mind could stumble across.

He would find someone. Not like Yusaku, no. And probably not like Kusanagi or Takeru or Aoi either. But _someone_.

And then? Well. He’d see what grew. And either uproot it...or let it bloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand now, it's time to do it from Ai's viewpoint. I swear the next ones will be happier. Like seriously. The two angsty ones are at the very beginning of the prompt list. The rest will be happier, I _swear_.


	3. March 7th: Movie night

Ai squeaked and buried his head into Yusaku’s shoulder, hands clamping downs painfully on the human arm they found nearby. And Yusaku bore it stoically, even if he was suddenly treated to the rustling fall of black hair as it pressed up against his face to successfully seal away the open maw of a dragon as it filled up the screen in front of them.

Because Ai...Ai had a _lot_ of hair. Too much of it at times.

Still, Yusaku did not so much as blink, even as the bright spill of orange flames blurred before him, softened and overtaken by the wisps of familiar black strands that bunched up and curled against his cheeks as Ai _moaned_ – the motion shoving his forehead into the junction of bone and skin that marked out the curve of Yusaku’s neck with a firmness that felt more like a punch than a nuzzle.

It got even worse as an actor screamed and Ai flinched in response; Yusaku was close enough to feel the heavy jolt of it slam into his body, and then down he went, both him and Ai, with barely any time to resist. Within seconds, Yusaku was treated to the plush darkness of a far too plump purple cushion Ai had spontaneously brought months ago, the familiar weight of his partner successfully lodged against his spine. Uncomfortably so. Though luckily, not one heavy enough to crush him.

Ai immediately reared back, hands springing away as though Yusaku had become something akin to a white-hot poker.

‘Ah! Sorry, sorry, Yusaku!’ The fact that there was no playful rhythm to the repeated ‘sorrys’ and no casual suffix of ‘chan’ or ‘sama’ attached to the end of his name meant...well. Nothing good.

Yusaku rather nosily breathed out through his nose. And pushed himself up. A cautious glance over his shoulder showed Ai leaning back far too dramatically, as though Yusaku was a gun set to go off in his face. Even his hands were spread in a pacifying manner and maybe, just maybe there was a slight tinge of fear in his eyes as well.

Ai wasn’t...well. He _was_ stupid. About things like this, at least.

‘I thought you enjoyed action sequences,’ Yusaku said nodding towards the screen where currently the main character was managing to weave and duck his way around the spew of flames on a school bike – all at a speed that should not have outpaced the fire. In fact, had the scene played out in reality, he would have been a charred mess of blackened flesh at that point.

Ai glanced back at the screen and frowned as the main character managed to make a sharp turn by grasping a lamp-post to swing both _him and_ the bike down the next street in an almost cartoonish manner. And that frown became downright pained as the main character cycled straight over a river where the bridge had collapsed, the metres of water refusing to give way beneath the black streak of his tires.

Yusaku sympathised. For while he knew that Ai enjoyed the unrealistic scenarios human television displayed, every now and again some of them hurt him and his logical, calculating, artificial brain to contemplate.

‘I prefer to see dragons in a Duel,’ his partner said shortly, still glaring at the cyclist. ‘Their destruction is limited to the field; nothing outside it is untouched.’ He smirked. ‘Well, except for the loser of the Duel perhaps.’

Yusaku thought about it. Decided after a moment that it sounded truthful; Ai did get excited over action and drama, yes, but less so over anything that brought up unpleasant memories. And it was now Yusaku grimaced, distantly recalling that Revolver’s dragon monsters had been actively involved in attacking the Cyberse World five years before Ai had officially introduced himself to Yusaku. 

Mouth firming, Yusaku reached out and paused the movie, smoothly allowing the screen to dart back to the options menu.

‘I don’t think this has any monsters in it,’ he muttered, cycling back through to a clip which pasted a cheerfully pink screenshot in front of them, the colour mostly comprising a comically large cherry blossom tree in full bloom, complete with the silver shards of a full moon peeking through the branches. Below the overdone artistry of the shot were two people wrapped up in robes of white, staring longingly into each other’s eyes. Two male people.

Quite stubbornly, Yusaku did not turn his head. Instead, his eyes flickered over to Ai, just long enough to register the way his partner perked up, a small smile overtaking his face – a genuine one.

‘Yusaku!’

And Yusaku was once again treated to hair falling into his face as Ai hugged him round the neck, the slide and press of his body enthusiastically moving into Yusaku’s own. It was neither comfortable or uncomfortable, simply something Yusaku weathered yet again – and yes, okay, having Ai that close, his arms knotted round his neck, his voice tickling his ear, his hair softly scratching his cheek – it made something slip down though him, soft as honey with a warmth that rose and built. Though he was careful not to let it show on his face.

‘You were paying attention! I knew it! You always look so bored when I feel you about these awesome new show I find, even though I know they touch something in you -’

Yusaku tuned him out before the teasing began in earnest and Ai’s smile slipped into his usual sly one. Any minute now, Ai would tell him how ‘cute’ it was that Yusaku pretended to not care and nudge him, maybe tell him that he should ‘be more honest with himself.’

Trouble was, this was as honest as Yusaku knew how to be. Mostly because he didn’t share Ai’s taste in movies at all. The truth was, even after all these years of distance from the Lost Incident, Yusaku’s not sure he had ever regained a ‘taste’ for any of this at all. So he mostly picked movies that he judged would get a reaction from Ai, would provoke him to squeal and bundle himself up against Yusaku’s side, make him lively and annoying and zealously full of life in a way Yusaku was still sometimes a little jealous of.

Honestly though, perhaps he was just ‘mean’ as Ai liked to accuse him of being with a petulant pout.

Yusaku can live with that. He’s mean enough to find other ways to smother that pout out of existence after all.

‘I would walk through a hundred deserts for you,’ one character told the other on screen not ten minutes later, a lotus flower caged in his slender fingers.

 _How stupid_ , Yusaku thought, watching the enthrallment on Ai’s face. _Just bring him home. Keep him there. With the small things._ And idly he let his hand trail down Ai’s back, fingers resting on the creases he found there.

And not caging anything in at all.


	4. March 8th: Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back when I was in full-time education, the tutor/teacher once told me that she wanted to see me write something 'funny' for once - that it would do me some good. Occasionally I attempt to do this - this chapter being once such example.
> 
> It don't come easy, I guess.

White winds his way round his neck, drifting over his chest and tucking its way over and under his chin with soft lumps of material. Ai scowls and prods a finger against it, registering the scratchy blend of wool and the tiny gaps between the stitches, in almost, but not quite symmetrical squares. Despite being knitted together by a machine in a factory somewhere, this scarf is far from perfect.

‘Hmm.’

Kiku passes an appraising eye over it, then firmly takes hold of his shoulders and shoves him back in front of the mirror so he can register how much like a snow-cone his neck now resembles.

‘I was wrong,’ Kiku declares sadly. ‘White doesn’t go with everything. You look-’

She cuts herself off, mouth forming a small pout as she struggles for a metaphor that won’t comes across as too rude.

But with his eyes trained on the mirror and that god-awful monstrosity looped round his neck like a collar, Ai has no such problem.

‘I look like someone spilled whipped cream over my neck,’ he says bluntly. ‘Too bad Yusaku isn’t here to lick it off.’

He flutters out a sigh, eyes trained on Kiku’s face within the mirror, and immediately enjoys the way she goes beet red, her pout bunching up into something that looks genuinely offended. And then she hides her head behind his back, thumping her fist sharply against his shoulder. Which – _ow_. Look, he’s sturdier than a human, okay, but he still feels pain! Everyone’s so cruel to him!

‘You’re awful,’ Kiku moans. ‘Terrible. How are you Takeru’s friend? He always goes red whenever anyone says something even remotely dirty online. Or in class. Or anywhere, really.’

‘You seem to have gone an interesting colour yourself,’ Ai notes, thoroughly enjoying himself as she risks a glare from behind his arm.

Still blushing, Kiku braves the mockery in his gaze and steps out, quickly fastens her eyes back on the scarf, and letting her gaze trail up into his hair to linger on the gold-flecked tints of light it curls into. ‘White is too brash,’ she murmurs. ‘Perhaps a creamy-yellow? It goes with parts of your hair and the colour of your eyes. Plus, you’re pale. Really pale. Vampire-pale.’

Ai preens. ‘I do have excellent skin.’

‘You don’t have skin,’ Kiku tells him dryly, sounding far too much like Yusaku that it causes Ai to form a pout of his own. ‘You make your own skin with that SOLtiS technology. Perfect skin. All the time and every day.’

‘Jealousy is unbecoming,’ Ai tells her, a bite of mirth to his tone. ‘If it really bothers you, we can go to a pharmacy and get some cream to help perfect _your_ skin.’

Kiku looks like she really wants to kick him. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my skin!’

Not true. With his sharp zoomed-in vision Ai can detect the beginning of a few clogged pores near her hairline and a small bruise littering the side of her neck, near her collar. Lucky for her, he’s too nice to say anything. Besides; the imperfections of humans in the real world, free of their avatars, has always struck him as interesting to view. Almost pretty in how brazen they appear, in the same way scars look cool in anime, for example.

‘You’re right,’ he says breezily. ‘Sorry, sorry. I took that too far. They’ve got some nice dresses in the back. An all new range in pink.’ He leers down at her helpfully. ‘I invaded the systems of their usual courier so they could get here today.’

Kiku brightens immediately. ‘Oooh!’ She claps her hands together, brimming with excitement. Though she is nice enough to help Ai untangle the hideous scarf from around his neck and hand him a comb she slips out of her back, all before she escapes from the dressing room. Not that he needs it.

But still. Little things like that, are the reason Ai hasn’t given up on humanity entirely. So he follows her, the comb still closed in his hand, and a smile that isn’t entirely villain-like in nature as they waltz through the aisle towards the back.

* * *

Six shops and two hours later, Yusaku and Takeru find them sitting under a cute pink parasol, outside a tiny cafe, glasses clutched in their hands. A spread of approximately twelve shopping bags are spread beneath their brown wicker chairs and around their feet like the hoard of treasure a dragon from a fairytale would feel at home guarding.

Takeru stares. ‘How many of them are yours?’ he asks Kiku warily.

Kiku stabs a straw through a bunch of ice cubes nestling the surface of her orange juice, letting them knock against the glass with a small, menacing clink. Takeru, trained martial artist, flinches.

It’s actually kind of funny to watch, so Ai rewards him by leaning back and pointing at all the bags he’s brushed a quick version of his Ignis head on in purple permanent marker. ‘Not to worry; most of it is mine.’

Takeru’s shoulders relax. ‘Oh good. So we will actually manage to squeezes everything onto the train ride back home.’

Ai beams and runs a finger round the kiwi juice he nurses in his own hand, leaning forward to delicately brush his mouth around the straw. Then he pretends to slurp. Loudly.

Takeru gives him a weird look. ‘Are you pretending to drink that?’

‘Yes,’ says Yusaku, hands buried deeply into his hoodie pocket. ‘He is.’

‘That’s...such a waste of money,’ says Takeru, looking both bewildered and amused.

Ai sniggers. ‘Well, it’s certainly a waste of _someone’s_ money,’ he says casually, leaving Takeru and Kiku to look a bit queasy at the implication and winning a glare from Yusaku.

Still. They don’t ask questions. And after some more inane pleasantries, they walk Takeru and Kiku back to the station and Ai and Yusaku begin the long trek home, endless plastic and string handles weighing down Ai’s wrists in a cascade of brown and white loops. Had he been human, they would be cutting off his blood circulation. Thankfully, he is not.

‘I don’t know where you are expecting to put all this,’ Yusaku says a few blocks later, eyeing the bags sharply; if he is perturbed at how they fan out at Ai's sides at every step, like the crinkling unfurling of a peacock’s tail feathers, he says nothing.

‘Well,’ says Ai thoughtfully. ‘I’ll be wearing at least half of this tomorrow. And then it’ll go into the wash while I wear something else. And round and round it goes, like the hydrologic cycle in the great outdoors, always leaving a little bit of space behind in the closet.’

Yusaku eyes him. But says nothing. Though his frown does grow a bit more pronounced as Ai starts to struggle up the stairs towards their apartment, bags brushing against the railings on either side and becoming cumbersome.

Ai doesn’t get tired. But the cramped physical space of the staircase and the way the sides bracket him and the swell of these bags together is certainly a little...limiting. And as though to mirror his thoughts, two of them nearly rip open a second later as they tug over grey stone and an iron railing. Ai freezes, fearful of taking another step and Yusaku closes his eyes as though he expects nothing less. Then he turns. And extends his hands.

‘Give me some.’

Ai stares at the hands. Thinks about this command – yes, _command_ – Yusaku’s tone hadn’t been nearly nice enough to make it an actual _request_. And makes a few calculations.

‘Heh,’ he bites out, wobbling perilously as he takes a step back, and thus risks another rip against a bulging bag. ‘No, no, Yusaku, I don’t need any help! You didn’t buy anything and let’s face it, carrying any of these will play havoc with your heart-rate! You’ll be panting with exhaustion after a few steps!’

Yusaku’s frown grows distinctively annoyed. ‘I think I can manage a _few._ ’ And then being the rude, ill-mannered person he is, he seizes a few loop still fastened round Ai’s wrists. And pulls.

There’s a sharp tear of sound. Clothes – in all colours – though most notably in shades of purple and black – go spilling down the stairs. A few even drift into the road.

Ai and Yusaku stand frozen, staring at each other.

_**‘OH MY GOD!’** _

Ai’s agonised scream echoes through the streets. His face, a wan mask of horror – thoroughly dramatised and badly-acted horror – he sprints down the stairs. And has to be yanked out of the road not two seconds later as Yusaku pulls him back before a truck goes roaring past. And the glare he directs to Ai, after his partner has brushed him off and stepped into the now empty road, is nothing short of furious.

‘I wouldn’t have died,’ Ai says huffily in return, cheeks puffed as he turns away with a visible stain of pink on his face. He gazes mournfully down at a particularly nice scarf, tire marks now stamped firmly into its cream-yellow colours. It’s as though someone’s run a stick of charcoal against the pale threads.

‘Not the point,’ Yusaku says firmly, pointedly glancing _both_ ways down the road, before starting to pick up the stray clothes. But he’s strangely gentle as he presses them back into Ai’s palms. ‘You still feel pain. Some new clothes aren’t worth that.’

Ai smiles up at him. ‘What a cool thing to say. That’s what you think you are. Cool.’

‘Not at all,’ Yusaku says. But he’s facing away from Ai when he says, expression buried in the dark, away from all the streetlamps and their soft golden glow.

And later, after rescuing everything they can, Ai frames Yusaku’s face between his hands, so that his expression can’t escape his sight. ‘Thank you, Yusaku- _sama_ ,’ he says, his grin a flash of teeth in the dark.

Because just like with Kiku and her simple gesture of showing a comb into his hand, it’s the small things that count with humans. Like the offering of a palm for some shopping bags, or the press of clothes against Ai’s fake fingers - and now the way Yusaku lets him, so easily, close him in.

Humanity is worth something. The clothes they make are nice, sure. A real perk - one of the only ones in fact.

But this? Ai closing in, lips on a face that shifts, that breaks against his carefully monitored touch?

Well. That’s something he’s still paying for, even now.


	5. March 9th: Dreams

Yusaku has spent nights, rolling in sweat, clawing his way free of duvets and for years he has done it alone.

**YOU LOSE.**

These words emblazoned themselves across the eyes he wears in his dreams, that feel more like memories than the new world that springs up in his brain, every time it falls into a new nightmare. He despairs that this will never change.

And yet: it does. And it is when Ai bursts into his life after ten years of these nightmares, his chatter filling the small room, crowding out Yusaku’s pants and gasps for adrenalin-fuelled breathes and sometimes accompanied by a thoughtful small black hand, patting him on the brow, uncaring of the sweat it finds there...and gradually, despite how Yusaku may snarl at him, over time, those large ‘YOU LOSE’ words seem to fade from his mind.

But not completely.

* * *

It is after the Tower of Hanoi has fallen. Ai is gone, has drifted back to his own world, leaving Yusaku to deal with his. But to his relief the dreams of the Lost Incident have began to fade. Shift. The white walls that trap him each night begin to crumble, cracking away to reveal the dreary grey of a tomb beneath.

Still, the grey rock of this new prison is gentler than the harsh white walls of before. Here, Yusaku can drag his fingers against the grit of the rock, can follow the winding trails that dig their way out beneath the surface of the Earth, and stumble over all the shifts in the scenery as a result.

And he finds wonders. Horrors. Perhaps both. A three headed dog that tugs at his sleeves, that stares at him with eyes of pity, their lavender hue too much like Zaizen Akira’s to bear. And a boatman nursing a paddle, that refuses to hide their gaze. ‘You cannot cross,’ they tell him. ‘Only follow the flow.’

Their words travel across a river that shines like diamonds, that nurses horrors within, pale wisps and shadows of what were once full bodied people rolling through the waves, each splash against the shore causing their ghosts to let out a small bubbling cry. And the fists they keep curled against their chest, unroll, to reveal a keepsake of their dreams, like a letter, a bronze broach, or the clasp of a toga. Yusaku collects them diligently and attempts to push them back into the river. But their owners are long gone, stolen by the endless river and each relic, every single one, drifts back into his hands.

So he keeps them rather like a small child collecting seashells on a rise of a sandy beach.

_‘You lose, you lose, you lose.’_

The words are locked into a voice now. Male and soft and far too much like Spectre’s, it mocks him as he reads letters not meant for him, inspects rings that will not fit his fingers, and watches the people in the lake fail to find the ones they knew in life.

* * *

Having Ai back in his life is a comfort that he knows he will miss. One he suspects he sometimes takes for granted. Still, when he leaves without warning, after Bohman is dead and drags the other Ignis down with him, it hurts more than Yusaku wants it to. In fact, it downright _stings_ whenever he stares at the glass bulb of his Duel Disk and taps it, only to find no welcoming eye ready to blink back up at him.

And this is reflected in his dreams. He feels frustration at these grey cave walls, longs for more colours, more sounds other than the wails of people he cannot help.

He could not help the other Ignis. He could not help _Ai._ It makes him grit his teeth. Thumps his fists against the wall.

 _‘You lose,’_ carves itself out beneath his fingers. _‘You lose.’_

* * *

‘See you,’ Ai tells the world, tells Akira, tells _him_ , as the message ends. And now Yusaku, no, sorry, _Playmaker_ has three days to prepare for Ai to throw his life away and perhaps ruin everyone else’s in the process.

Ai is – **was** \- smiling on the screen as he threatened Zaizen, sat in a chair and preened like a villain. And Yusaku hates it, hates that he couldn’t stop it happening, he hates it so much that in the privacy of his dreams that night his fists land harder and faster. And the walls crumble away, lets green spill through. Out, Yusaku stumbles out into sunlight, wades through grass that wavers up to his knees and pushes away flowers that shiver and fall to land in hands so much paler than his own.

Yusaku stares up into eyes more golden than the rings he has stolen from ghosts down below in his kingdom, into a face so beautiful that a modelling agency would start drawing up contracts for it as soon as it wavered before their eyes.

But no part of Ai here wavers. Not really. He smiles instead. And breezily, he pushes a flower behind Yusaku’s ear.

‘I win, Yusaku-chan,’ he tells him.

* * *

Yusaku fails to reason with Ai’s copy, just as Blue Maiden fails to reason with the original Ai. And Yusaku watches his partner tear her away from her brother, punish her for daring to speak her mind, just as he knows Revolver and the Knights of Hanoi tried to punish the Ignis for merely existing.

Which means Ai has learnt all the wrong things from humans. But then again, perhaps Yusaku has too, for that night he wraps his hands round Ai’s wrist in his dreams and drags him down with him, into the dark.

Ai’s face wavers. It falls.

‘Yusaku,’ he says, an ugly tone biting into his voice. ‘Stop.’

Yusaku doesn’t. He pulls Ai through tunnel after tunnel. He shows him the three headed dog which Ai pets with cold, detached look on his face.

‘Poor old pooch,’ he sneers. ‘Just another tool in someone else’s game, as usual.’

Yusaku drags him to the river, shows him his treasures. Tries to shoves letters of love into his hands, tries to push rings onto his fingers. He’s trembling; he’s never been so desperate. But all Ai does is stare at the river, at the ghosts that are caught by his current and are tossed under, rolled beneath its waves.

‘My friends,’ he says softly. ‘My friends...we can be one again.’

He steps out into the water.

Yusaku wakes.

* * *

‘I loved you Play-Yusaku.’

The words resurface in his dream, Ai mouths them to him beneath the water that sweeps over his face as he drowns. Yusaku grabs hold of him, tries to pull him into his chest, the way he failed to when Ai turned into a glitter of gold that escaped his arms and disappeared into the net.

The boatman rows forward, pushes his puddle against Yusaku’s chest. Shoves him back.

‘You can’t cross,’ he says with eyes of steel, grey as the waters beneath, just like Ryoken’s. ‘Ai made his choice.’ There’s no pity in his eyes as he tells Yusaku, _‘you lose.’_

* * *

Yusaku spends his days as Playmaker, searching, seeking for the one he should never have let go, that he should never have let run away.

In his dreams he knocks the boatman overboard, he dives into the lake, he drags Ai out with him. And Ai wails and claws at him like a monster of myth, his shape flickering from human into black monstrosity that tries to wriggle free, tentacles thumping against Yusaku’s arms, big enough to break bones, to snap them in their tantrum. But Yusaku isn’t fooled; if Ai could hurt him their story would have already turned out very differently. So he ignores the glare in that single gold eye and holds on, staring back fiercely.

‘I’ve made my decision,’ Ai spits at him, turning back into his humanoid form and bruising Yusaku’s lips with a greedy pout; one that shatters, breaks open into a gasp as Yusaku lets his mouth fall open, the pomegranate seeds inside scattering out into Ai’s throat.

Ai chokes, bucks, frightened and feeling far too human beneath the press of Yusaku’s arms, against the cruel curl of his partner’s fingers.

‘I always duel to win,’ Yusaku tells him.

And it’s...such a nonsensical sentence, so out of place in the way many things uttered in dreams are. And yet...those dreaded words, that refrain of ‘you lose’ that has always, _always_ , attempted to crush him down into nothing...for once it does not follow him out of the dream.

And later, out of it, in the afternoon, Playmaker’s fingers close over a fragmented, crumbling Ai.

* * *

Ai does not sleep and so he does not dream. Yusaku envies that. Though he takes care never to mention it.

‘You do have some strange dreams, sometimes,’ Ai tells him fondly none the less, fingers tracing the curve of his cheek, and Yusaku shots him a look of suspicion. But Ai just smiles back, gaudily.

‘Relax, Yusaku-chan,’ he murmurs, ‘I don’t mind being your Persephone or Eurydice; though I would have liked a better role. Something cooler than simply being another hostage; you have some really weird kinks, you know? _Uh-uh-uh,_ ’ he sings, holding up a finger at Yusaku’s furious glare. ‘You’re so secretive that I have to get nosy to make sure you’re not plagued by those nasty nightmares anymore; and you can’t lie in your dreams! Your subconscious is more truthful than you are, you kuudere!’

Just for that, Yusaku rolls him onto his back and makes Ai squeal by pressing his mouth against his neck; seconds later he even drops a kiss against Ai’s delighted mouth, though thankfully, he has no pomegranate seeds to spit out there; Ai’s not designed for actually swallowing after all.

Ai squeaks as Yusaku’s hands begin to sweep over his chest, careful and methodical as always.

Ai doesn’t want to be Persephone? Or another Eurydice? Fine. He can be anything he wants out here, within Yusaku’s grasp.

Just so long as he remembers how much Yusaku hates to lose.


	6. March 10th: Royalty

Every day was the same for Yusaku: get up. Iron out the crick in his neck. Stretch. Stumble out of the house and gather water from the well. And then do all the other tedious, mind-numbing tasks that would keep him alive for the day. Then, if there was enough time before the sun set, maybe he would check the grain in the cellar, think over what he would need to do before winter struck and the mice attempted to fatten themselves on the kernels of corn he would carefully tuck away.

He rarely if ever stopped to appreciate the fruit of his labour. As long as it was there, in soft, folding dunes of gold, he was content.

Sometimes though…sometimes, just when evening began to fall and the shadows would stretch out and fall from the beams of wood that supported the roof, he thought he saw a glint of gold from the corner of his eye. Faint, shimmering strands of spider silk, that shone with a colour not found in nature. Idle thread that spun and travelled through the air like smoke lifting itself free of an incense stick.

Perhaps it was the fey folk playing tricks. Or else a more powerful than usual ghost, haunting a thousand year old grave, long since lost beneath Yusaku’s fields.

Yusaku didn’t care unless it was trying to hurt him or someone else and so he let it whirl through the air. Besides; he could have just been going mad.

It was only a month after he began that one day, after wandering to the well that he saw gold yet again. In two eyes, wide like the lights that danced in the night as fireflies or perhaps even the lanterns of the fey folk...and they stared up out of him, from an imp, jet black with purple veins crawling through its shape. One that was nestled up inside his bucket.

Yusaku was tempted, just for a moment, to let it drop back down into the dark. But it wasn’t in him to be cruel for no reason, so after a moment he picked up the bucket more firmly and started it lugging it back home.

The imp flailed. ‘Oi! What’s this? Help! I’m being kidnapped!’ It – although the voice sure _sounded_ male – wailed, and thumped against the side of the bucket as though unable to fully control itself, causing a wave of water to slosh over the side and dapple the ground with moist dark patches.

This, more than anything, caused Yusaku to halt and stare down at his now almost-full bucket in annoyance. ‘Then get out,’ he told the imp curtly.

The imp glared back up at him. ‘What are you, stupid? I can’t! It’s against the rules! You saw me!’ He wrapped his arms around himself protectively, as though to shield some of his body from sight; though that didn’t, Yusaku noted dully, prevent him from then curving his body in a stupidly provocative manner, as though attempting to invite Yusaku’s gaze there in the first place. ‘And that means I can’t leave until…’ He glanced up Yusaku slyly. And then proceeded to wilt, much like a limp daisy, as the seconds ticked by, Yusaku’s mouth remaining a silent and uninviting line.

‘You’re so dull! Why’d I have to get stuck with a stupid mortal who never learnt how to use his tongue-OW!’

Yusaku, patience now firmly at an end had began walking again, letting the bucket swing down against his chest perhaps a little firmer than necessary.

‘Guess you’ll have to stay a hostage then,’ he muttered. And ignored any and all outraged shrieking this reply prompted.

* * *

The imp was a nosy chatterbox. He asked Yusaku if he ever got bored out here, alone, and what he planned to do in the future.

‘None of your concern,’ Yusaku told him. And was rewarded with a glare and two clenched fists.

Still though. Time moved by faster when someone else was there with you, infecting the air with words, and yet more words, enough of them that Yusaku felt the resulting noise fall over him like a spell; a spell that caused the sun to set faster, to plunge beyond the darkened line of the horizon with all the unceremonious roll of an apple.

And then it was night. Bed. All with the imp watching him from within the bucket, eyes glowing with a sulky gold. Yusaku fell into his dreams with the colour following him, chasing him down, lying thin threads of shining light on his mind, a fishermen net that cloaked a dark shape that twisted and turned, on the very edge of becoming a nightmare- Yusaku awoke.

The threads of light were no longer in his mind; no, they danced through the air. No longer caught in the corner of his eye, they wavered and fell, tracing a thousand paths over the table, the bed, trailing just over, and not quite falling upon, his bare skin. Cautiously, Yusaku moved. The threads did too, backing away the shape of his careful hands, his wavering chest, as though to leave an outline around him.

There was noisy humming emerging from the cellar. And so Yusaku followed it, the threads parting from him, quickly rearranging themselves into layers, like the lines that decorated the inside of a tree; and Yusaku travelled past them, all the way into a cellar than should have been filled with corn. Should, but wasn’t.

A shape was there, a human shape, though there was something wrong with the eyes, the black hole of the pupils too sharp to be human, the gold that held them brightening with a light fiercer than the flame of a candle. And the ends of that hair were outlined with the quicker shimmering colour of the golden threads that the being spun from his hands; he held them out, let Yusaku’s corn fall into his palms as he dipped and pulled them free from the piles Yusaku had created out of them. And then his fingers parted, because a sieve, and the corn fell, no, it _shattered_ , unravelled as though made of something softer than leaves as they bounced against the floor, cracked open and –

The shells rolled away, round and round until they eroded into coins, actual gold coins. Yusaku stared down at the sizable pile that had gathered at the stranger’s feet and the stranger laughed at the look on his face.

‘I never said I wouldn’t pay my rent, Yusaku.’ He grinned. ‘See? I earn my keep? With spells and songs, so much so, that I think I deserve a little reward, hmm?’ He leant forward as though the thought had just occurred to him. ‘Ah! I know?’ He grinned wide and low and Yusaku felt something creep into his stomach at the sight; a chill, a warning, an age old instinct that said _‘don’t trust the fey folk.’_

‘Give me a name,’ the fairy – for what else could he have been – purred. Sang. Maybe whispered. All at once.

But once that confusing clash of impossible syllables, shouted and sung and muttered all at the same time, threes tongues, one voice, faded, stopped making Yusaku’s head hurt - Yusaku took one long look into those devastating eyes and let out a harsh **'no.'**

* * *

‘But why noooooot?’

The wail was annoying. Infectious. It filled the house. Minute by minute, even as the sun rolled back into the sky and the fairy shrank back into a small black annoyance, he would continue to pester Yusaku. And on one memorable occasion even threw a coin at his shin.

Though given what else he could no doubt do, Yusaku supposed he should be grateful.

‘One,’ he said harshly, holding up a finger. ‘You took something that wasn’t yours, without permission and changed it into something else. It wasn’t a favour I ever asked for. Two’- and up jumped the second finger. ‘You clearly want something in return. And won’t explain it in a way that will allow me to understand the ramifications of granting you your favour until it’s no doubt too late to take it back. And three-’ he turned, staring at the fairy, long and hard. ‘You should already have a name. All fey folk do. And you never give those away, except to those you trust. I can’t simply give you a new name, unless something happened to your old one. Or you’re trying to rename yourself.’

But that would be foolish, Yusaku thought. Much like gods, the fey folk were shaped by their names, changed by them even – to bestow a new name upon a creature like this, with its blessing no less, could change the very essence of both who and what they were. 

The imp glared at him. ‘Fine! See if I ever give you any more gold!’

Yusaku frowned. ‘I never asked for any.’

The imp turned to the side, arms crossed. ‘Doesn’t mean you won’t need it one day,’ he muttered, before sinking back inside the bucket into a sulk.

* * *

Turned out the fairy lied. He continued to spin gold for him that very night. Humming, fingers moving across the corn, coins rolling smoothly into a pile on the floor, he continued his weird spell. And Yusaku often woke up to watch him, chin resting in his hands as gold threads flung themslves through the air. Not a word passed from him to the fairy, though the fairy often threw more than a few his way.

Honestly, Yusaku should have known better. He should have stopped this. All his hard work being transformed into useless metal, metal that he would never need, because this place was his refugee and the city was-

Yusaku frowned, irritated at the thought, and the fairy watched him, eyes narrowed into pinpricks of gold.

‘Remember anything?’ he asked.

Yusaku shook his head annoyed.

The fairy sniffed. ‘Of course not. You’re human. And whether from the threat or thrall of gold and the riches it offers, your kind always bargins above your means.’ He offers Yusaku a sly grin. ‘Just as your mother did.’

Yusaku raised a brow. ‘Oh? So you didn’t happen to end up fished out of the well by my bucket by accident then?’

The fairy pouts. ‘You don’t seem very surprised...’

‘I figured this was part of some game to you,’ Yusaku said, wading his way through the pile of the gold to the fairy’s side – and watching the way the fairy’s lip started to curl, his eyes narrowing into something angry as Yusaku’s shadow fell over his face. ‘Whether I can’t remember because of a spell you cast or whether it was my own fault; I don’t care. Just as long as no one ends up hurt.’

The fairy flinched at that. Looked away a moment. And then he surged up, onto his feet in a rush of black and gold and pale, pale skin. And then those colours came forward, practially burst against Yusaku's face in a rush of speed.

‘Your heart,’ he murmured, greed written in every line of his face. ‘Your stupid, wistful heart - it isn't like your mother's at all. Her's was silver and tricky. But yours is the real deal. Like gold. Because you _care_. And you do not ask for _my_ gold, even though others would.’

And then his mouth, his sly hot mouth was on Yusaku’s, nibbling at his lips. Yusaku flailed for a moment. But just for a moment. And then he decided to play the fairy at his own game, wrapping his arms back round that lithe, strong back. And with a grimace, he held on. For there was warmth against his face, a soft flow of heat that rippled over his skin; probably magic. And then the fairy reared back, as though surprised by Yuskau's grip. He shivered into something balck and many-limbed, his gold eyes melting into one large brusing glare form a single eye, digging into Yusaku's gaze as jaws started to form, roaring in his face.

Ah, Yuskau thought, and like a gift, a memory spun free, a whispered tale of how holding onto a creature of magic, despite the flicker in its shape, would enable you to ask a favour of it. That, more than anything, proved this creature had taken his memories from him as only now, on the verge of claiming some element of power back, could Yusaku remember things more clearly _. A woman crying, a hand on her neck, something about a broken promise-_

 _'The bargain is struck,'_ the creature before him had said, single eye narrowed in malice and glee, and suddenly, with an uncanny bolt of knowledge, Yusaku realised he was about to break his part of the deal.

He let go instantly, the knowledge vanishing within seconds as the fairy leapt back from him, fury caught on his features as he shivered back into human shape.

For a moment the two of them glared at each other. Yusaku's fists were clenched, curled, and with a slight feeling of shock, he realised the fairy's were as well. _How human,_ he couldn't help but think.

‘Are you an idiot?’ the fairy bit out, voice lowered into something dark and furious, that bubbled into the beginning of an unleashed temper. ‘I planted one on you, with no warning! Your first kiss! You should have fought back! Your mother would have! You could have broken-’ and then he cut himself off, eyes glimmering with an anger that seared.

Yusaku thought about it for a moment. And carefully resisted the urge to brush his hand over his lips. ‘It wasn’t terrible,’ he said. ‘And I’m not going to let you provoke me into hurting you.’ He raises a brow. ‘Because that would mean I lose whatever game you’re playing here, right?’

The fairy scowled. Went back to weaving his spell with a mutter and a curse. And refused to look Yusaku in the eye for the rest of the night.

* * *

‘Why do you live here?’ the imp asked the next morning, from his favourite position of the bucket. 

‘It’s quiet,’ Yusaku said after a moment. ‘There are no people here. In the city I would make them nervous. I don’t always manage to respond to them the way they or I would like.’

The imp tutted. ‘Only because you can’t practise talking to anyone out here. Still,’ - and here the imp lifted a hand, brandished it into a bow. ‘You have _me_ now.'

‘I don’t think you’ve a good judge of what should pass for a normal conversation,’ Yusaku muttered. Though he felt a smile touch his lips as the imp roared in protest.

‘Alright,’ said the imp finally in a huff. ‘How _did_ you end up living here?’

Yusaku froze at that. He stared off into the distance, brow furrowed. But no matter how he tried, no image came soaring into his mind, no hazy recollection of sound or colour. His memory was completely blank.

‘Does it matter?’ he asked, finally. ‘It works. No one gets hurt this way.’

The imp surprisingly enough said nothing in return. And yet, seeing the way his gaze lowered, those golden eyes narrowing into a glare at the floor outside the bucket, Yusaku imagined something close to regret was passing through those features.

* * *

That night, their third one together, Yusaku watched the last of the corn flutter out into coins. And then the fairy rose to his feet, grand cape unfurling in the dark.

‘I’ve given you enough gold to buy back a life,’ he said quietly. ‘Even for a king; which means I’ve completed my side of the deal.’ He shrugged, smiling helplessly. ‘Even if, as always, you and your linege haven’t held true to their side.’

And then the darkness reached out with one dark sprawling hand – and the fairy began to fade away. Or so it seemed to Yusaku who blinked and straightened in surprise. But still. It was happening. The lines of wood, of beams in the cellar, were beginning to push through the fairy’s chameleon shape. And soon there would be no fairy at all, not in the space he had been standing in.

Yusaku couldn't let that go. And so he crossed over to the fairy in three strong steps, mind clearing for one sharp instant, letting some memories spill through; perhaps because the fairy was finally freeing him from their bargin and whatever spell that kept him locked away from the rest of the world was fading.

‘My mother gave me a name from a strange land,’ he muttered, fingers stroking over the space where the fairy’s chin had been. ‘ A strange land that gave birth to the messenger who revealed your true name to her; so it seems fair to give you a new one from it. That way no one will be able to easily guess or imprison you with it again.’ He leant forward, feeling half-caught in a spell. ‘Your name is Ai,’ he muttered against a mouth fast fading, a mouth that was no longer there. ‘And hopefully it will be one that you won’t use to hurt other people with.’

Ai gave him one wild look. And then sank back into the stone walls, the lines of them bursting through his quickly fading shape.

Yusaku leant back. Let a hand rise to his lips. And remembered.

* * *

There was no imp to greet him in the bucket that morning. Instead, Yusaku spent the rest of that slow-moving, silent time pulling all the money the fairy - no, _Ai_ \- had crafted for him into a large sack, before thrusting it over his shoulder. And with one last glance around that empty cottage, he stepped outside.

He had no idea where he was going. But that last smile the fairy had given him seemed so sad. Like he was hurting, the same way Yusaku’s chest now was. And Yusaku had never been very good at letting pain linger without trying to clear it away.

Still. The baragin was done. Ai had no reason to stick around. And so on and on he stomped. Down paths that pulled at his memory, over a stream he now remembered laughing in when he was a child, his mother smiling at him from the bank-

 _‘Leave,_ ’ the wind sung. _‘You won your prize. Now leave.’_

Yusaku walked. Past a crumbling tower, a lone spinning wheel trapped in its eroded maw. Stray tuffs of straw dotted the floor and Yusaku stared at them, at the flickers of gold they produced as the sun shone down onto the ratty floor.

This is where my mother sat, he thought numbly. It was starting to come back, the whispered mutters of the people at his father's court, the questions: _‘why can she no longer spin straw into gold? Why not?’_

Because she broke her promise to a fairy, Yusaku thought numbly, and continued on.

* * *

Yusaku walked into the city he remembered from his childhood. Past people who stared, who tried to cover their mouths with their hands. He walked and walked, all the way into the palace. Up to a king with eyes that gleamed for gold, all in the same mean shade of green Yusaku had inherited from him.

So Yusaku didn't waste time with words. He had already wasted them all, weeks back, when he had demanded his mother's freedom and the king - his _father_ \- had sneered and told him to be his 'mother's son.'

 _'And find a way to spin gold out of nothing,'_ he had snarled. _'And then we'll see.'_

So now, glaring into those mean green eyes, Yusaku kicked the bag over, letting the fountain of gold spill to the floor.

The king leaned forward eagerly in its wake, his green eyes lapping up the shimmer and shine of the money as it rattled and rolled over to his feet. And as the last chink of the final coin fell away, his hands griped the arms of his throne with a savagery Yusaku still remembered tearing into the neck of his mother, weeks back, as he chocked the story out of her, of the supernatural helper that had spun straw into gold to support her father’s impossible boast to the king – and prevent her head rolling off her shoulders should she have failed.

 _What an idiot,_ Yusaku thought contemptuously. _As if a human would ever transmute anything into gold. And yet you locked a woman into a tower filled with straw and told her to do it anyway because of a lie my grandfather told?_

He closed his eyes. He remembered stumbling to the crumbled tower after his mother’s lies had been unveiled, remembered scattering stones into the pattern of a fairy ring the way the court wizard had shown him. Remembered breathing out the fairy’s original name into the night air and seeing black limbs spread out of the shadows, a single golden eye, more gruesome than a dragon’s singling him out in the dark.

 _‘For three nights,’_ the fairy had sung to him, octopus-like limbs weaving round his own. _‘For three nights she sat on her hinny and did nothing while I slaved away for her! And all she had to do was give me her firstborn!’_ That golden eye had torn through Yusaku ruthlessly. _‘And even when she wailed and held you to her breast, I was nice enough to give her another chance! Three nights to wrestle my true name from me! And she did, she did! And yet here you come crawling back, begging me to give your family yet more gold!’_

 _‘If it will save her life,’_ Yusaku had said, fighting back the fear. _‘And stop more people getting hurt, then what choice to I have but to come here back to you?’_

A bargain had been struck. The fairy would spin whatever amount of corn Yusaku could gather into gold without any memories to help him remember why he needed to do so, to see if he was willing to work without the promise of a reward hanging over his head. And in return...

 _‘Give me a new name!’_ the fairy had hissed. _‘A name that won’t be torn from me again!’_

So Yusaku had fulfilled his promise. And he had managed not to cheat the fairy the way his mother had done.

But now...his father, eyes alight with greed was already spewing commands, wanting more, holding his mother’s life to ransom again and Yusaku stared at him, arms crossed. Strangely, he didn’t feel afraid. He would look for Ai as many times as he needed, bargain with whatever he had, just so long as no one got-

The king froze. His mouth opened. And shut. And then his tongue waggled out in a long, snake-like flick of gold, hitting against the back of his teeth like the gong of a bell.

And in the wake of this sound, as though it had been a summoning spell, Ai stepped out of the shadows, gold threads already sizzling through the air to snag on the arms of the guards who drew their swords - and immediately froze, trapped in their spider-like grip.

Ai smiled at them, at their frightened faces slowly - but there was nothing nice about it. He shook out a hand and more threads wove throught the air, curling round the swords and blunting their edges. His fingers curled into a fist and then the threads tightened round the blades in a series of noose-like knots, before shearing through the metal completely. The divided blades dropped from their empty hilts, and as they did so, their mirror-like colour flashed into a bright, flame-like spread of colour - and by the time they hit the floor they had become solid bars of gold.

'Go,' said Ai with a sneer. 'It's all you humans want, isn't it? Gold? Use it to feed your families or whatever else you do with it. But don't darken Yusaku's door again. There's a new guard here. And I take a different sort of payment than you lot do.'

His eyes lingered meaningfully on Yusaku. And the guards fell to the floor, gathered all their gold they could, anything to avert their gazes. No one came between a fairy and their prize, not unless they were pure of heart and had something they were willing to bargain for in exchange. And the gold in their hands was something no one was willing to throw away, not even for the life of a prince.

Ai grinned and leant down, right into the face of the terrified king.

‘You know, your son has a heart of gold,’ he said meaningfully. ‘I can sense it. But it seems a great pity, that no part of you, not your soul, nor you ugly face, can hope to be its match.' He sniggered, watching the flail of gold inside the king's mouth as he opened his jaws to speak. 'Well. Not until now, at least.' He tilted his head to one side. ‘Might be hard to give out any more orders to execute anyone with it though,’ he mused thoughtfully.

Yusaku watched the panic on his father's face. It occured to him that he could put an end to that; that he might make another bargain with Ai to free him.

...But then he would have to live with the possibility of having his mother used against him again and again. Forever. And Ai was right. Like this, his father could no longer hurt anyone. He could probably even still down food and water, provided the food was mushed up for him first.

It wasn't a death sentence, no.

It was a **life** sentence. And one Yusaku thought rather fitting.

* * *

Later than night, Ai sulked. ‘Praise me more! I made you a king, didn’t I! Or at least you will be soon...your father can’t give anymore orders...and I didn’t kill him! So you can't be mad at me for that!’

Yusaku looked at him and his ridiculous pout. ‘Ai,’ he said softly.

And all at once it was like a spell had been cast. Now all smiles and soft looks, Ai cast himself down on Yusaku’s lap, nuzzling into his leg.

Yusaku supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. In that faraway land, he knew ‘Ai’ meant a few things. One of them ‘love.’ How that was going to remodel Ai and the sort of fairy he would form was quickly becoming obvious.

On the other hand, his personality still seemed relatively intact. At the very least, Yusaku thought that maybe he wouldn’t be going around trying to bargain unwed women into giving their first born to him anymore. No, that was something 'Rumplestiltskin' had done, and being 'Ai' was a chance to step away from that, to weave a new legend around himself. But even so...

‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ Yusaku asked softly. ‘I can always give you a new name.’

‘No,’ said Ai. ‘I like this. It makes me feel less lonely. Most of my kind is vanishing from this world, losing themselves to the stories you humans tell yourselves. But this name...it’s an anchor. It doesn’t make me feel so angry anymore.’

And then he leant up. And this time, he asked for a kiss. Instead of simply stealing it away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone else ever wonder if there was a version of the story where Rumplestiltskin wasn’t cheated of his prize? No one?
> 
> Then again I suppose it depends on the version of Rumplestiltskin you read. As far as I can tell, he’s never portrayed as glamorous or handsome. He’s not human, certainly, and I’m sure in some versions there’s some creepy implications as to why, exactly, he wants the firstborn of the miller’s daughter, but it does seem pretty lousy that he was never paid fairly or even in full for his labour.


	7. March 11th: (A)ice cream!

It was gorgeous. Sheer _genius._

Ai hummed happily to himself, rocking back on the chair he had balanced beside the table – a table that currently supported a tower of ice cream. Literally. Multiple balls of pastel shades now sprouted out of a wide sundae glass that Ai had thoughtfully liberated from the internet a few days ago, and already a few scoops towards the bottom were melting beneath the weight of the more recent additions.

Brown, green, yellow, pink, even a cherry-red sorbet of some sort - Ai had really gone to town with the flavours, the near-empty ice cream cartons littered round the sundae to mockingly resembling a set of empty coffins. He had been hoping to use all of them up, true. But the additional weight of the sprinkles he planned to add could quickly convert this beauty into another fallen tragedy, subject to the cruel grip of gravity.

Ai frowned, eyes flashing. He had run all the calculations, devised any scenarios on how exactly he should apply the next scoop of vanilla or chocolate or banana, but he still had to be careful, now that he had no longer locked himself inside a simulation. Out here, in the real world, it was not unlike playing a game of jenga. Except the fact that ice cream could slide and melt, and wooden jenga blocks did not.

‘I’m not eating that,’ Yusaku said. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, but the glare he wore was only a _little_ harsh. He wasn’t angry, Ai could tell. Just being his usual, severe, boring self.

And all Ai did was grin and carefully – _carefully_ \- let the ice cream scooper rest on the table. His faithful companion, the brush that helped mould this canvas of art – it deserved a well earned rest! He patted it cheerfully, then turned a snide smile on his partner.

‘Ah, my boring Yusaku-chan, how arrogant of you to assume this is all for you!’ He turned and shook his head, fighting down the glee that threatened to erupt across his face and transform his smirk into an outright smile. Mostly at seeing Yusaku’s frown twist a little more in slight bewilderment. ‘Maybe,’ Ai suggested, raising a triumphant finger, ‘I’m trying to defeat a world record!’

He preened, delighting in the way Yusaku’s glare smoothed out into a heavy gaze, passing over his smiling face and analysing it. Because oh, Ai knew, he _knew_ that this wasn’t the reaction his partner expected! No, no, he was expecting Ai to play the part of the sulky brat, to whine and wilt into his chest, to wail about how ‘mean’ Yusaku was and how all his work was for nothing when the love of his life wouldn’t so much as deign to taste a single scoop of this masterpiece!

Ai ripped his eyes away and with a flourish a maestro would have been proud of, grabbed a handful of rainbow sprinkles and threw them over the top of his creation. There. _Perfect._

‘Still,’ muttered Ai, tapping his chin as though the thought has just occurred to him. ‘It does seem to be a bit of waste.’

And then, with a coy tilt of his head, he leant over. Opened his mouth. And firmly bit into the tower.

Time froze. A bunch of abortive commands ran through his processor, tripping over themselves with urgency and a few error messages popped up as a result. He could felt an icy spot on his chin, a ripple of sheer cold trailing over his lip and down his chin, as well as a bite of pain scissoring across his sensors there, as a delicate brush of information entered his systems.

But not of taste. Or sweetness. No, none of that exploding into him, infusing his data with a new sensory experience. Of course not.

Ai did not allow himself a sad smile. Not when Yusaku’s hand was suddenly clenched tight over his wrist, sending a new heat-wave of information pouring into his sensors.

His partner rapidly dragged him from the chair, through the room, pulling him past doors and walls into the grotty, ceramic-coloured box of the shower. And Ai let him.

‘Idiot,’ hissed Yusaku. But his gaze was concerned, heated even as it travelled over his face, and his slowly-blinking eyes. ‘You’re not designed for that.’

 _Not yet_ , Ai thought, but didn’t say. Mostly because of the conflicting messages in his system, still struggling to understand what exactly he’d attempted to do with the mouth the SOLtiS software had helped him form. He was just working on clearing the recent memory cache for that part of him, so that his jaw could remember to actually, well, _move again_ without all the junk data getting in the way, when Yusaku abruptly twisted the tap.

And icy water thundered down his ears.

Ai screeched as his sensors wailed at him. The cold jet of water was everywhere – in his hair, his eyes, down the back of his neck, passing his clothes against him like a second skin. Still, it did help him prioritise getting everything in working order.

He glared at Yusaku from beneath a set of sodden bangs, swiping the fringe that was now attempting to blind him back with a single hand while the other, rather more clumsily than he would have liked, fumbled with the tap and adjusted the temperature to something more bearable.

‘You’re clearing up that mess, once you get out,’ Yusaku informed him tartly, arms crossed once again. And then he seemed to soften – maybe it was the way Ai looked now, half-drowned, with his hair falling into his eyes. Or maybe it was because of all the wet crinkles in Ai’s clothes and the way the hue of his lavender shirt became somewhat transparent beneath the thunder of water, turning a rosy, flesh-like colour. Unlike Ai, Yusaku had a genuine libido after all, though he was careful about showing it. Either way, he stepped forward, firmly pressing himself into the shower with Ai, boxing him in.

That was the way he always did things though – both decisive and stern, and Ai couldn’t help but be amused as Yusaku’s hands found the back of his shirt, as they rolled it up to reveal sodden skin, becoming two nice warm blessings across the curve of his back. And then Yusaku’s lips rose against the curl of his own, thoroughly removing the last few specks of ice cream that had somehow avoided the onslaught of water.

‘Do I taste sweet?’ Ai murmured as Yusaku pulled away.

Yusaku smirked. But didn’t answer, preferring to press another kiss into his partner’s grinning mouth. Then another and another.

Ai giggled, leaning back into the water, back pressing up against the tiles as Yusaku rose on his toes, all to press a kiss against his closing eyes.

‘There isn’t a single sweet thing about you,’ Yusaku muttered, hands still moving, still curling like a set of bunched wings against the curve of Ai’s back. ‘Not when you got exactly what you wanted.’

Ai grinned. ‘Hey, got you to smile didn’t I? That’s your first one today! Congratulations!’

Yusaku looked at him a moment, a faint whisper of a line on his lips. One that curled. And then he kissed him again.

* * *

Still. Clearing up all that melted ice cream later on? Like he was some _Roboppi_ model? Not fun. At all.

Ai grumbled. Screwed another kitchen towel up in his fist. And started working on his next plan to make Yusaku smile.


End file.
